Under The Cover of Dark

I sit alone at the table

The table is alone with my thoughts

My thoughts are alone with a knife

The knife is alone with my fingers

My fingers are alone

Under the table

Could it be scissors this time

Or acid. I’ve swallowed bleach.

As a dare from a friend, a choice

To be ignored, or be forgotten

My mind blanks

I feel the sweat and the pressure

Never one to back down, never one to fall

Without wondering if I could fall further

Everyone wants the seventh level of heaven

But I’ve seen the seventieth of hell

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